Reset
by Aeditimi Scriba
Summary: Near-end of Deathly Hallows, Remus finds himself in a familiar place. R/S/T. "Sirius had once told him that his life had reset at that moment, locked in the circle of Remus’ arms..."


The Shrieking Shack's main room looks unnaturally clean and well-lit, which is jarring. The few times he visited during his tenure as teacher, it had been covered in layers of dust, smelling of rat droppings and rotting wood.

Then there is the small problem of how precisely he arrived here, which nags at his mind in ways having little to do with whether or not one can Apperate on the school's grounds. That, and he is pretty sure that if he'd Apperated, he would be wearing clothing, but no, he must have imagined it, because here are his robes after all.

Massaging his temples, he tries to remember how he moved so suddenly and seamlessly from the stifling hallway, the frenzied motion, the bodies crowding the periphery of his vision, the blaze of green racing toward Dora, and his own frame, thrown between.

But it is the voice that brings it home for him, falls like the last piece of a puzzle into his understanding, making his belly, if he possesses such a thing, lurch with simultaneous joy and anguish.

"Moony, my love, am I devastated to see you."

He turns; Sirius is leaning casually against the doorframe, looking neater and trimmer than Remus remembers, his clothing fitted and clean, his hair gleaming in the slanting sunlight. He's spoken honestly, and Remus can see pain in his eyes and the lines around his mouth, but also a hint of cautious joy simmering just beneath.

Without feeling that he's moved, Remus is halfway across the room, and Sirius has folded him into an embrace. He is solid and real, which only serves to remind Remus that both of them are not, and his arms are gripping Remus' back, keeping him on his unsteady feet. Remus is reminded of another embrace, half a lifetime ago, in the room just above them, when he pulled Sirius into his arms, willing him back to life and hope and happiness with the mere force of physical contact. Sirius had once told him that his life had reset at that moment, locked in the circle of Remus' arms, beginning again with redemption and life beyond the madness that had surrounded him.

Remus knows how he must have felt.

"I've missed you, love," Sirius says, his breath warm on Remus' neck, "but I didn't want to see you so soon if—I never wanted you to suffer."

Remus loosens his hold a little so he can look Sirius in the face. "No, Padfoot, that was the easy part. I did my suffering the past two years. Even in the moments when I was happy, I missed you so terribly." He pauses, wondering how much the dead know, not sure how to broach the next subject. "I _did_, I mean, I…"

"Got busy with my cousin?" Sirius offers, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

"Thank gods!" Remus breathes, "didn't know how in the world I was going to tell you that one." He breaks off again. The next part is even harder.

"And you have a delightful son, a beautiful baby, whom you love with your whole heart."

"And who I will never see grow into a man." Remus pulls back even further, slipping out of Sirius' arms. "I swore I'd do right by him, be the father he deserves, and I've failed before I even started."

Sirius is silent a moment, searching Remus with his eyes. "He'll know it, Moony. He'll grow up knowing what you did for him and for his mother and for the world you wanted him to have. Harry knows it about James, and Teddy will know it about you."

Remus has turned away and collapsed into a chair, burying his face in his hands and trying to slow his breathing. "But I've left them—Teddy and Dora—I've failed them and I l—I care about them so much."

Behind him, Sirius has placed one hand between Remus' shoulder blades. When he speaks, his voice is tender, but cautious, too. "You love them." It isn't a question. It isn't an accusation either.

Remus nods mutely and tries to twist in his chair a little. He wishes he could see Sirius' face. His mouth works uselessly for a moment.

As usual, Sirius is three steps ahead of him. He circles the chair and crouches down on the floor, resting his palms on Remus's thighs, bidding him to look up with the power of his gaze. Again, his tone is soft, without accusation, saying what needs to be said. "And you worry that it hurts me. That you love your son. That you love your wife."

At the last word, Remus forces out the breath he's been holding. "Can you forgive me?" he blurts, eyes darting over Sirius' face, to see if he can read the answer there.

Sirius cups Remus' cheeks with both hands, and Remus feels the panic subside a bit as he looks into the blue eyes, wide with honesty. "There is nothing to forgive, my love. I don't begrudge you a taste of happiness. I'm not angry or sad that you found a bit of hope, that a piece of you lives on. I know, I could see, how much you missed me, how much you loved me. I see it still." Remus is trembling, but the terror in him is easing. "I don't for one minute think that you loved me less because you found some happiness—" Remus opens his mouth in protest, "however fleeting, however different, with Nymphodora. Yes, you loved her as best you could, you gave her what you had left to give, and, as it seems to have escaped your otherwise brilliant mind, you died in the hope of saving her life."

"But now I'm here, and she's, and you…"

Sirius chuckles softly. "You'll find that such things matter little here, or There, rather. This is just your particular entryway, a place you've created where you feel comfortable and happy, so that you can ease your journey Beyond. But There, it's different. You'll see. That your heart belongs to more than one person is not a problem."

"So does the physical part still exist?" Remus asks; if it doesn't, his body is taking its time catching on.

"Oh that's still there," Sirius says. "In fact, I think I've exercised remarkable restraint in not shagging your dead ass all over this shack."

Remus laughs, and as he does, feels a lightness in his chest. The room seems to grow a bit brighter, a little more transparent, around them. He dips his head and catches Sirius' mouth in a kiss, sliding from the chair to the floor and wrapping himself deeper into an embrace two years gone.

Lost in the moment, he doesn't hear her clear her throat behind them.

"If I'm, er, not interrupting anything…"

Remus' eyes fly open, but for a moment all he can see are Sirius', equally wide with surprise. He whirls clumsily, tangled with Sirius on the floor, to see his wife standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room, twirling one finger through her pink hair.

"Dora!" Remus imagines his face must outshine her locks. He struggles to free the hem of his robe from around Sirius' ankles. Sirius helps him, looking properly chagrined, but Dora laughs, her eyes bright.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Remus," she crows, pulling him up by the hand, "it's not as if I didn't know! It's not as if you didn't tell me all about it yourself. Not as if," and here she winks over his shoulder at her cousin, who is still clumsily getting to his feet, "you didn't call out his name a time or two."

Remus concentrates on determining whether the dead can Apperate themselves out of embarrassing situations, but apparently not. He chances a look at her face, and flinches.

"But if you're here," he begins, darkness threatening his vision, _I failed at that too. _"Then…"

"Yes," she says, sobering. "Bastards got me in the back, I think."

"And Teddy…"

Her eyes mist a bit. "I know. But Dad says he'll be okay."

"Dad?" Remus looks around. His wife's comfort level aside, there are some things he'd rather his father in law not witness.

"He was waiting for me. In the Auror office at the ministry. That's where I ended up at first. But then I was here. I guess it's just not my heaven without you."

Behind him, he hears Sirius grunt, but whether out of disgust or sympathy, he isn't sure.

"You can't imagine what it was like," she says, tears spilling over. "I went a few minutes after you. I saw, I watched—and there was nothing I could do."

"Actually," his throat is tight, "I remember what that's like." Sirius has placed a hand on his shoulder again, and he is grateful for the warmth. He brushes a tear from Dora's cheek, kisses her there. She sniffles and shifts her weight, leaning into him, and he is suddenly in a clumsy group hug.

"What an odd little harem I've concocted," he murmurs, and feels Dora shake with a little laugh. Sirius, on the other hand, withdraws with mock horror.

"Suddenly you're the alpha male?"

"Boys, please!"

"Seriously, though, Padfoot," Remus argues, "how precisely does this…" But he doesn't finish his question, because he feels a pull behind his navel, like a Portkey's twisting travel, a summons.

Sirius has frozen in place; he's felt it too. True horror replaces his joking expression.

"What was—" but Sirius cuts him off, forcing hurried words through his lips.

"That's how we know someone's on the threshold. Someone who needs us. Someone coming to us."

"It wasn't—" but he sees from the anguish on his friend's face that it most certainly was.

"Harry," Sirius croaks.

Then the room is spinning and Dora is slipping from his grasp, saying, _go, I'll meet you There_, and he is clutching Sirius' arm as the two of them spin faster and faster, and his feet are landing on the real, living grass at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.


End file.
